


Claire de la Lune

by satin_doll



Series: Claire de la Lune [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: After TLD, F/M, Ficlet, Grieving John, Grieving Sherlock, Part 1 of series, Some angst, eventual Sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satin_doll/pseuds/satin_doll
Summary: After Mary's death, Sherlock has a visitor.





	Claire de la Lune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazy Cat Lady](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Crazy+Cat+Lady), [sunken_standard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunken_standard/gifts).



> Okay. I've expanded this a little. I don't know what got into me. Seriously. I have this vague feeling I should apologise for this but...sorry/not sorry. Anyway.
> 
> For Crazy Cat Lady and sunken_standard both of whom continue to inspire and awe me (and create in my silly brain those little itches that have to be scratched even when I should know better.)

“You shouldn’t have done it, you know.”

Sherlock sipped his tea and stared out the window.

“What else was I going to do? Let you die?” The voice was the same, earnest, intense, even laced with a bit of humor. 

“Perhaps tried to shove me out of the way?”

“You know there wasn’t time for that. Bullets are fast. You of all people should know that.”

Sherlock turned finally, blinking, his heart pounding. 

“I just...I just wish…”

“I know. I do too.” Softly. 

She rose from John’s chair and came to stand in front of him, reached a hand to brush a curl off his forehead. 

Sherlock felt the touch like a breath against his skin, barely there, but real. So real. 

“Can you stay?” he whispered, and closed his eyes as the breath caressed his cheekbone, trailed down to his chin. 

“I don’t know. I can try.” A small laugh. “I have...other things to attend to here also.”

“God. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“No, no. It’s all right. Sherlock, none of this is your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” Another small laugh. “I’ll be here as much, as long as I can. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

“I miss you.”

Her hand on his shoulder was light, just the slightest pressure, and he imagined he could feel warmth - though he didn’t know if that was possible. Maybe it was just...wishful thinking. 

“I miss you too. I miss all of you.”

She began fading then, as he knew she must, and something in him broke, and the tears started. 

Just before he lost her completely, he heard a whisper: “I’ll be back. I’ll be here with you.”

He smelled her perfume in the room long after she was gone. 

*****

Through the haze of drugs and trauma, he caught glimpses of her, occasionally heard her voice (whispers, a laugh or two), but he wrote these off because, well, drugs and trauma. He did what she asked of him in the only way he knew how, and strangely enough, they all survived it. 

He didn’t need babysitters in the aftermath, but he was so grateful for the company that he couldn’t bring himself to complain. They took shifts, his friends. His _family_. He would have preferred that Molly simply move in with him; of course, that wasn’t an option. He took what he could get at this point. 

And then there was John. 

John with his occasional thousand yard stare, cocking his head as though he was listening to something...or someone...no one else could see. He couldn’t imagine what John was going through. Even when John _seemed_ better, even when he seemed to forgive, there was a distance there, a chasm really, miles of depths and consequences he didn’t think he’d ever be able to cross. 

“I cheated on her.” Like icy water splashed in his face. Those simple words, ones he’d never have believed he’d hear from John’s mouth…

“I cheated on you Mary.” Stillness inside, as he looked to where John’s gaze fell, tried to see what John was seeing...then stillness warring with swift little hits of confusion, concern, wonder, and one small sharp jab of...jealousy…?

But then came the whisper, close, very close, and he turned his gaze away from John and his invisible partner, staring straight ahead, concentrating so hard on that small, soft voice in his ear. 

“That’s not me. It isn’t me he’s seeing.” 

The explosion of questions and astonishment in his chest almost made him lose focus, and he turned his eyes back to John, watching closely as John’s voice cracked and the grief and guilt and remorse spilled out of him and the tears began.

“He needs you. Now. Hold him.” The voice was clearer then, stronger, and from the corner of his eye he glimpsed her, kneeling beside his chair. “Go.”

Sherlock rose from his chair, wrapped his arms around his weeping friend. 

“...But it is what it is,” she whispered in his ear, and he leaned his head against John’s, and repeated her words, afloat in a sea of confusion, grief, sadness...and relief.

Later, she would explain, at least as much as she knew - which, all things considered, was actually very little. It was enough for the time being.

As John put on his jacket…

“What he’s been seeing is a projection. It’s from his own mind. His “internal Mary” in a way. Guilt, I suppose, and grief. They both do funny things to people.” 

Sherlock couldn’t ask questions, of course, not right then. He slipped into his coat and scarf…

“Talk to him, Sherlock. Let him know it’s okay.”

They stood in the doorway and Sherlock said the words John needed to hear. 

“It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human.”

“Even you?”

“No. Even you.”

And as they turned to leave, Mary’s voice again - he could tell she was smiling, though he could barely see her leaning against his desk by the window.

“Wear the hat, Sherlock. For me. I like the hat.”

Sherlock turned, fished the damn hat out of the drawer and put it on, John watching, incredulous.

“Seriously?” 

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I wear the damn hat.” 

And without thinking, tossed over his shoulder as he strode out the door, his expression stern against the emotion welling up inside him as caught the scent of her perfume again, “Isn’t that right, Mary.” 

He didn’t see John pause, look back and scan the room, a mixture of hope and fear battling on his face, as if maybe - just maybe - Sherlock had acquired, among his other amazing gifts, the ability to summon the dead. 

But the room, for John, was sadly empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it whispered and I wrote it down. And now it's stuck in the icky morass that is my head and there will probably be more...like, what happens when Molly finds out that Sherlock is seeing Mary? 
> 
> Gods. What have I done?!


End file.
